


Just Surviving

by gingerbread_lesbian



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/F, Oww the Feels, Pain, Sad and Awful, Spoilers, War Paint, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-05-27 04:20:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6269461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingerbread_lesbian/pseuds/gingerbread_lesbian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SPOILERS!<br/>After someone else dies, Clarke is left just trying to trudge through mourning all over again, all to reach sunrise the next morning. Sad... My feels required that I write this, I'm sorry in advance! 3</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Surviving

The war paint looked as black as the blood on her hands. She hadn’t washed it away yet… she couldn’t. When blood so thick it was almost black coated her hands when Finn died, she had been quick to try and attempt cleaning it away with a cloth… now, however, she sat on the floor of the room that Lexa had given her, dried blood the color of ink, actually black unlike Finn’s, mixed with dark war paint caked on her hands. 

Now, as she sat there, staring at herself in the mirror, she had not known what she had been trying to accomplish… she simply felt empty and broken. She was staring at the familiar lines of paint that had been on the face she had gazed at for the last few weeks. There had not been a day that she didn’t see her over this last, long week, or maybe it had been two by now, of being with Lexa. How long had she been in the Trikru capital? The days blurred together in her memory now, the same way that her vision blurred the image of the face in the mirror so much that, for a second, she thought it might be Lexa looking back at her, but the blonde hair gave it away and, as a tear fell, smudging the paint and making it run even further down her cheek, her vision cleared and she saw only herself reflected back at her.

The war paint had always reminded Clarke of tears to begin with… and now real tears rolled down her cheeks and made dark lines down her cheeks. She tried to hold them back, knew that Lexa would never have liked to see her cry, but it was unavoidable as she continued to look at her reflection, not recognizing the person there. It wasn’t Lexa, not by any means, but it wasn’t her either. It took Clarke a very long time, until her face was a runny mess of black paint and what smears of Lexa’s blood had made their way there, to realize that this was Wanheda, the Commander of Death. 

She did not command death, though. Clarke never commanded death. Brought it down on people, yes, both guilty and innocent had fallen at her hands more than once. Lexa’s blood was not even the first blood of someone who loved her to coat her hands. She was guilty of everything they accused her of, except of being a commander of death. Wanheda would have the power to stop death from happening… 

Wanheda would be able to keep people alive to be tortured for their crimes when they realized that whatever they did, it would never erase those that were lost, only add to the list, never subtracting. Clarke was a subject to whatever Wanheda was or would ever be. She was one trapped in the clutches of the bitch that Wanheda was. She would forever live with the losses of those that fell because of her. The three hundred sent against the Drop Ship, Finn, the hundreds inside of the Mountain, Lexa, even the two who she couldn’t get to stay in their seats at the very beginning of their mission here to the ground. She would see them the rest of her life, following her in a silent column, like an army of the dead… maybe that was what Wanheda meant.

The kills she had made that would never be able to cover her back for it was too small and her kills too innumerable by now, made an army behind her. They followed, like Finn had followed for a time, giving her strength, but never peace. 

“Clarke…” the voice was unfamiliar and cut through her reverie, but when she turned, she saw Murphy gazing at her as if she were as broken as his face looked. He never showed kindness, not that she could really remember, but he very gently grasped her wrists and helped her to stand. She did not fight… not anymore… as he took her over to a wash basin, slowly wringing out the cloth inside to wipe her face first, then her hands as the water turned black with just the slightest tinge of maroon. 

He said nothing, which she was grateful for, and turned to let her dress in something clean. She only had the blue silks she had worn the night that Lexa had come to see her after her battle to the death. Clarke wished she had kissed her then… they might have had more time then… and the tears flowed anew. Murphy shifted uneasily, but very hesitantly wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to his chest. She took what solace she could from the gesture, knowing it was not something he was used to, but neither was it familiar to her any more… She wanted her mother, Clarke knew, in that instant… but she made due. 

After a while, when her chest stopped heaving, he turned her to the bed and, when she curled up on top of the mattress, he stroked her shoulder lightly and left almost as silently as he had arrived. She closed her eyes, but, when sleep would not come, she opened them, gazing straight ahead in defeat… but Lexa was gazing back, that sad smile on her face. 

“Don’t be scared…” The voice was from her head, a memory, and the image of the sad smile and the blood on her hands, soaking the wet rag she was attempting to save Lexa with, flashed to her mind’s eye as the words coursed through her head. Clarke sniffled and buried her face in the pillow, her shoulders trembling anew as she sobbed, letting out her pain and frustration all at once until she was far too tired to stay awake any longer. One day without Lexa had been survived… only the rest of her life to follow. For now, life _was_ just about surviving till tomorrow.


End file.
